Jack

 

I felt like I was living somebody else’s life.

 

The MC had pulled out all the stops for me and Ellie today, with the women all taking her off to do whatever it is women do for weddings. A bunch of my MC brothers and I went for a ride.

 

It was a gorgeous, sunny day, perfect for the bike. Too bad I was in a piss-poor mood the whole fuckin’ time.

 

I knew I should be grateful—and a part of me was—but what I really felt, more than anything else, was resentment.

 

I resented Keith for not being there.

 

I resented Ellie for lying to me, for making herself into a person I couldn’t count on, couldn’t trust. For not coming forward with what she knew a year ago. For not telling me, more recently, about her suspicions.

 

I resented my MC, for making a big deal out of this sham of a marriage.

 

I even resented Ellie’s dead grandmother, for forcing her to this point, for putting us in this god-awful situation.

 

But most of all—and I hated this shit, but I was being brutally honest here—I resented myself, for wanting more than I could actually have with Ellie, and with Peter.

 

I was fucked.

 

I figured my best option was to get good and truly obliterated tonight. It seemed the smartest thing to do, given the circumstances.

 

It was beginning to hit me that I was actually getting married, even if it was only a temporary arrangement. The ceremony and the celebrations would be as real as they come. The Iron Bandits didn’t cut corners on doing it up. This would be no different, and I knew it.

 

So there would be all this hoopla over us tying the knot, the formalization of Ellie and me as a couple, which was irony, defined.

 

This woman turned me on like no one else I could think of. I wanted her more than any other woman in my life, and our chemistry together was nothing short of mind-blowingly phenomenal. If I ever was going to marry anyone—which was not something I’d spent much time pondering—I couldn’t think of anyone better to do it with, than her.

 

But.

 

She was also the only woman, barring those who were actual blood relations, who I could not have.

 

This was not a real thing between us. We had already agreed to its end. She wanted it like that. And so did I.

 

Right?…Yeah. Right. I did. That’s what I wanted.

 

So this whole thing sucked ass.

 

“Hey Grump-o,” I heard him before I saw him. It was Grath, of course. He started to lightly jog my way across the compound lot. “Hold up. Got a minute?”

 

“Yeah, man. What’s up?”

 

“Heard you were being delightful today, on the ride. I figured I’d bathe in the splendor of your joy, rare as it is to be seen.” He grinned and punched me in the arm. Fuckin’ Grath.

 

“Be careful I don’t punch your fuckin’ lights out, bruh. I’m in no mood for it.”

 

“So I see.” He raised an eyebrow. “Curious.”

 

“You need something?”

 

“Actually, yeah. I need you to lay off your woman about it tonight. I know how pissed you were last night—completely understandable, man—but you gotta know, she didn’t tell you for good reason. She made some hard—and yeah, questionable—choices last year, but tonight is not the night to deal with that.”

 

“You don’t know…”

 

He wasn’t even gonna listen to me. “What I know is this: you have a beautiful, kind, caring, and smart woman who is probably freaking the fuck out right now, about to marry your sad ass out of desperation for her baby boy. She knows you’re pissed at her, right? Can’t imagine she wouldn’t, by now. Think, for a minute, about how she feels. Give her tonight. Be nice, brother. Tomorrow is tomorrow. But take tonight off, for both of you. You need it.”

 

He was not wrong.

 

“Who set you on my tail, man? I gotta go beat somebody up.”

 

He laughed. “Yeah, good luck with that. Bull called me at the shop, told me I’d better get my ass over here and talk some sense into you before you fuck everything up even more. You gonna go take out our president, now? That’s a great fuckin’ idea, bruh. I’ll be ringside.”

 

I shook my head. We both knew I would not be doing anything to Bull. I had far too much respect for the man, and gratitude for all that he had done for me in this past year. Not to mention that it is not in our MC culture to dis—or piss off—the prez.

 

“Listen, man. Let it go. You’re about to marry a gorgeous woman. Let yourself enjoy this. Don’t think about six months from now. Think about Ellie, and think about Peter, and about what this will do for both of them in the long run. You are being a fucking hero to that woman, so act like one. Even if you’re not feelin’ it. She’s been through enough lately, ya know?”

 

He was on point. “Yeah.” I nodded.

 

I slowly resolved myself to make tonight about her. Help her have some fun, a night off from the many stresses that had been dragging her down for well over a year now.

 

Tonight was going to be a long fucking night.

 

# # #

 

Formal MC events do not involve tuxedoes. We were all in our kuttes, black pants or blue jeans, and long-sleeved white or black linen shirts. Some of the guys had put up a white canopy out on the lawn, and the bikes were all lined up facing each other in two rows, leading from the clubhouse to the canopy, like a guard of chrome. Bull was presiding, Grath was my best man, and everybody else was circled around us and the canopy.

 

Waiting there for my bride to walk down the aisle, it felt really strange to be the center of attention like this. I actually felt—I didn’t know what. I wanted Ellie to get her ass out here ASAP, so I wouldn’t be alone as the focal point anymore. Let her have that. But waiting on her, as I was, I was actually starting to fidget.

 

Okay. Yeah. I was nervous.

 

After what felt like long hours of standing there, waiting, Shredder, our very own lead guitar soloist, finally began playing a recognizable wedding song or piece or whatever it was. Everybody hushed and turned toward the compound to watch as Ellie made her way through the aisle of bikes. She walked alone, but she needed no accompaniment. She looked…

 

Beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.

 

The silky white dress, veil over her hair, et cetera—all the basic bridal stuff—but none of that mattered, not to me. She was blushing, of course, probably from all the eyes on her. It made her eyes brighter, her face softer, her lips fuller. Not that she needed it—she was always gorgeous, even first thing in the morning when she could barely open her eyes and walked around like a zombie. But today, now, on this occasion, I was blown away.

 

This woman was about to marry me. Me.

 

Unbelievable.

 

And suddenly, I knew I couldn’t hold onto my anger with her any longer. I could barely hold a thought, except for an impatient wish that she would walk faster, get herself to my side sooner. I needed to look into her eyes and see her expression, see what she was thinking, make sure she really wanted this, too.

 

Hell, I wanted her to want this—me—for more than just the money. But reality bites, man. No way would either of us have been there, were it not for Peter and that trust fund.

 

Maybe I ought to have been thanking her grandmother.

 

Ellie finally arrived, and I took her hand, which was soft and light as a feather. Her hand was shaking, so I gave her a squeeze for support. She immediately intertwined our fingers, and I figured that was a good sign—she wasn’t pissed off about the way I had laid into her this morning.

 

Just remembering those moments had me getting a semi. Damn. Every time I touched her and she responded was a kind of bliss and torture combined. I’d steered clear the past few days for a reason, but that was not going to be possible for the next several hours. I had no idea how we would survive the next six months.

 

I tried to focus. Tonight was just tonight. Live in the now. Moment to moment. Plenty of time to think about the next day when it came. That would have to be my ongoing strategy, and I had no problem with it. Actually, it had long been my general MO.

 

Peter was the one who had me thinking differently, recently. His very existence required planning ahead, and I hadn’t even realized how much my thinking had altered because I was thinking of him and his needs, and Ellie’s needs in association.

 

Was I seriously already becoming a family man? Was that what this all meant?

 

I didn’t have time to let myself dig into all that philosophy, not right now.

 

Now, I had an unbelievably beautiful woman holding my hand, standing up with me, and needing my help. I’d give her everything I had, tonight.

 

Even if it killed me.

 

# # #

 

We had a fucking great night.

 

The ceremony went off without a hitch. Ellie was nervous, but she got through it, even smiling at me shyly most of the time. She blushed as she spoke the vows, of course. It turned me on. As if that was any surprise.

 

When it came time for me to kiss her, I was fully committed to enjoying the moment, so I went for it. Why the fuck not? Pretty sure I surprised her, but she didn’t protest in any way—if her grasping my hair, opening her mouth, and rubbing her tongue on mine with the same amount of passion as I put into it was any indication.

 

I don’t know for how long we were mashing, but by the time I lifted my head, all I could hear were whoops and clapping and laughter coming from all directions. There was no holding back my smile.

 

Ellie was grasping onto my head and back and seemed a little wobbly, so instead of doing the normal thing, I bent down and picked her up and carried her down the aisle of chrome, back to the clubhouse. Everybody trailed us, and the party started rocking immediately. There was a lot of loud music, champagne—I had a glass because I figured I should—disgusting stuff—and beer and top-shelf everything.

 

Despite all of her nerves during the ceremony, my woman loosened up soon afterward. We danced, laughed, and ate a ton of great barbeque. The Iron Bandits threw us one hell of an amazing party, and I knew they did it for me, for Keith, and for Ellie. I had good people.

 

And now, Ellie did, too. That, in itself, was important.

 

The only thing I was having a consistent issue with—the whole night long—was the raging boner that pressed hard against my jeans just from being near that woman. I couldn’t blame her for it, but by the time the party was winding down enough for us to go home, I was desperately searching for ways to put some distance between us. Proximity was getting to be torture, and even though I was all for living in the now, I also had to be mindful of our arrangement, and our promises to not give in to our explosive sexual chemistry.

 

Ecstasy, meet Agony.